PACEM
by synaesthesia
Summary: Robin reflects. Post-series. [Fall in to a light sleep.]


A brief vignette on the aftermath of the Factory.

[Very brief.]

Witch Hunter Robin isn't mine; I would be making more episodes now if it were. ;\

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PACEM;

We live in candle-light, but this fire is different from mine or the one that murdered us.

Different.

The way you looked when Karasuma yelled for us to follow her, the half-pleading, half-frightened look– that was the most I've ever seen in your eyes. I thought it was the first and the last. Your name was on my lips like a prayer, and you didn't hesitate to come to me— or maybe I came to you. When thousands of pounds of steel, metal and scientific research are tumbling around you, inflamed, it's hard to recall everything perfectly.

You had kind of laughed, "Some watch dog."

And I reached up and touched your forehead, "God won't leave us behind."

I only remember you mouthing, Probably, the uncertainty in your eyes saying, _Don't lie to me, not now_, and Karasuma's frantic screaming– that and flames, souls; spirits of witches. I remember all of that being one and then I remember nothing at all.

It's not much of a room, but it's ours and I think that's all that matters. We don't talk much, but there's not much to say that hasn't already been said. 

And I know you're tired, anyway.

I gave up sleeping in the nude for the time being– for now, anyway. You sleep right on my left side, stiff but at the same time so comfortable, vulnerable. You said I was the only one who's ever seen you sleep.

"Not even Touko?" I had asked.

"Not even Touko." 

My knees are drawn up at my chin and I'm watching you out of the corner of my eye; you're not asleep yet, I know; It's only 1 AM. You drift off about two, sometimes even three. I can make out, just barely in the dim firelight, when your dark eyes are hidden.

I don't think you know if I'm awake or not; my hair's down and it's in my eyes like a fanned mask. Wind from an air shaft moves through and the fan flirts with you, hiding my face completely. I don't sleep too well anymore; but sometimes, when I know you're sleeping— when I know you think it's safe enough, why else would you lie awake so late?— I fall asleep near your shoulder. 

But the clock ticks by 2 AM, and I wonder why it's taking you so long tonight.

"Robin."

Oh.

"Amon?" I look out from beneath the feathered mask and see that you're staring straight at me, the arm opposite of me propping your head lazily from your pillow.

You don't answer me so I turn completely, the thin silk Pilgrim underskirt maneuverable over my body. Your brows are knotted together in to two lines of distress, and if I was anyone else but me I would've thought you were angry.

"Amon."

"You should sleep." It wasn't asking.

I didn't hesitate, "You're not asleep."

You didn't understand.

"I only sleep," I put my chin back to my knee, but kept my eyes on you. The candlelight was dimmer now. "—when you sleep. When it's safe."

You thought this over for a moment and peeled back a bit of the cover that lay at my feet, "I told you'd I'd protect you. Awake or not." You leaned foreword a little, beckoning me silently. I slipped beneath with you, and you tucked the sheets around my sides, soft like a father. A brother.

A lover.

You loomed over me for another quiet pause and looked up to see the flickering candle, glowing only enough to cast a faint shadow now. You swept your hand across and it twitched out, white smoke filling the room, with a faint cinnamon perfume. You laid down in the same position at my side, but this time your other arm supported your head. Your eyes were straight ahead.

It was the invitation.

I rolled in to the hollow and found your chest. I pulled the sheets higher up, to my collar bone, and closed my eyes for the first time that night.

You slipped your arm down my side, quietly; the definite touch of a man. And then I was aware of your breathing slowing and the rise and fall of your chest barely moving my head.

I followed suit.

It's the most ironic thing; being dead let's you feel so alive.

  
  
  


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[& Pacem, means 'Peace'.]

No, no; I don't believe they're dead, either. Amon & Robin Forever. Haha.

  
  
  



End file.
